


Born in High Heels

by Xyriath



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alchemy, F/F, Meet-Cute, Trans Female Character, state alchemists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 04:35:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6038323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So Rebecca can’t find a man to meet her standards, even in Central.  That’s fine.  It’s not like she was expecting to, anyway.  Cowardice abounds, and all that.</p><p>And then the State Alchemist program accepts its first ever female candidate.</p><p>Catherine Armstrong is no coward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born in High Heels

**Author's Note:**

> [Thank you Sassy for drawing me lovely art for this couple and I WANT TO SHARE IT WITH YOU ALL.](http://sassyfirealchemist.tumblr.com/post/139385009182)
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When Second Lieutenant Rebecca Catalina had heard from a friend (of a friend of a friend) that the first State Alchemist’s exam since the Promised Day would be held and that she _couldn’t_ miss it, she was… skeptical, to say the least.

Yes, alchemy was pretty cool, but it was also totally beyond her grasp of comprehension, and she liked it that way. _Everyone_ in the academy had been required to take a brief course in its very basics—probably to suss out anyone with enough potential to be useful—and she put that behind her the moment the final class had ended. It was _nice_ to have alchemists around, but she tried not to involve herself in the complicated goings-on that they always seemed to attract. Consider it old-fashioned practicality.

Not that it had always _worked_ , but a girl could try.

But, _but_ , people had been showing up from even farther than usual since the events of the last year, and it was going to be held _outside_ for the first time, and, if you got there early enough, there were spots open to the _public_ , though at a distance. And the complete and utter cream of the crop was expected to show up.

Or so she had been told, anyway.

Still, _anything_ was better than listening to Jean continuously bitch about how he’d had to shave off his beard after reenlisting, and if she had to hear one more sadly contemplative eulogy, she was going to knock him into next week. So to the exams it was, with her and other friends of and around the lieutenant rank, to see what amazing—or disastrous—skills were to be presented as possible new additions to the Amestrian military.

She did have to admit that it _was_ a pretty cool view. The giant statue someone transmuted was pretty cool, even if the hand fell off and smacked the alchemist in the head, laying him out flat and effectively disqualifying him. The one who did ice fractals was pretty cool, but some guy was also there _clearly_ trying to copy General Mustang with fire alchemy, which made the first person’s life significantly more difficult. Though, Rebecca had seen the real thing, and she knew that it was a pale imitation. He certainly wouldn’t be getting through.

Now, Rebecca was interested in the man who seemed to be creating a car from scratch, judging by the impressive skeleton of metal and… whatever those were. She could identify the parts by sight and probably function, but not by name, and wasn’t super fussed about it. She leaned forward in her seat, impressed despite herself, watching.

And then someone else stepped into sight, and for some reason, they caught Rebecca’s attention.

The face-covering cowl was an eyecatcher, definitely, as was the hat pulled down low across their forehead. Yeah, it was cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey, but showing off seemed to be the purpose in life for most of these people. And while they were wearing a black wool coat, the only major bundling seemed to be in the head area.

So, disguise. And disguise, interesting.

They stepped up, flexing their fingers, and when she squinted, she could see that they were gloves—no, gauntlets of some kind. She thought back to what Jean had told her of the “formidable” Major Armstrong. Didn’t he use those? And were they… sparkling, somehow?

And then the alchemist in question dropped, slamming a fist into the ground.

Rebecca gasped as poles of metal shot up from the ground, and after the immediate _where did those come from?_ she could see the provided stacks of scrap metal shrinking around them all as… whatever it was grew taller. The alchemist took a few more steps and punched the ground again, something Rebecca would have usually found to be a completely useless and probably macho bullshit pursuit, but this time, it actually worked! More metal poles sprouted, and by this time, they were all lacing and twining together that she could see that they were forming some kind of frame. A shed, maybe, or a barn? Rebecca had been to her fair share of raising those…

But the large square lattice _couldn’t_ be a barn, not really, and not with the way that, even after the solid skeleton seemed to have been completed, the metal continued to twine around each other on its frame, producing ornate and _classy_ twists of metal that were clearly decorative, above the highest peak of the building. And there were arches, too, and an ornate doorframe with more of those curlicue things, and was that a _balcony_ jutting out of the side of the largest segment of the building?

All right, maybe there was more to this Alchemy thing than she had given it credit for.

She wasn’t the only one paying attention now: the murmurs around her had increased, and several people were pointing in the building’s direction. Even some of the State Alchemist hopefuls had stopped in their tracks and were watching, mouths half-open.

The metal _finally_ seemed to stop growing from the ground, and the shape reminded Rebecca of something, niggling in the back of her mind…

The alchemist punched the ground again, and sand flew in all directions.

The sand snaked out of the sand pit—but not as sand, as a clear substance— _glass._ Molten glass was flowing up and over the skeleton, forming sheets with a green tinge across the frames…

It finally clicked.

A _greenhouse!_ The alchemist was building a greenhouse! She had to kick herself for not spotting it earlier, honestly; Eastern Amestris was big on agriculture and any properly country-raised girl should have spotted it. Not that anyone needed to know.

Rebecca watched in fascination with the rest of the crowd as the building grew, filling out _perfectly._ She didn’t know much about alchemy, but that _had_ to be something mighty impressive.

The assessors seemed to think so, too, stepping forward and inspecting them, some of them jotting furiously on a notepad. She _thought_ she might have recognized the Brigadier General among them, but she couldn’t be sure.

And then a shout of alarm from the crowd, and she turned to look for the source of the disturbance.

The car from earlier, still incomplete, now seemed to be hurtling, full speed, towards the greenhouse, powered by the light that even Rebecca could recognize as alchemy.

Her jaw dropped in horror at the thought of such a beautiful contraption being destroyed by sabotage, and she was seized by the desire to also call out, warn the greenhouse alchemist of the danger—

But they turned elegantly, almost like a dancer, and without even pausing, dashed over towards the oncoming vehicle, cocked back their fist, and punched.

The gauntlet connected solidly with the car, stopping it in its tracks—and with a shudder, it suddenly burst into thousands of pieces, vicious shrapnel that caused Rebecca to gasp and clap her hands to her mouth in horror, convinced that everyone nearby would be killed.

But the shrapnel seemed to take a life of its own, freezing midair, and then regrouping to form a shape that looked eerily like… a man.

A man which then proceeded to stomp its way towards the alchemist who had sent the car hurtling towards the greenhouse, shrapnel metal arms waving threateningly, which sent him shrieking and running in the other direction.

The rest of the exam had some impressive displays, but not quite on par with _that._

Eventually, the proctors called the alchemic work to a halt, having all of the candidates line up here they had begun. The crowd murmured its speculation, wondering who would be chosen, rooting for their favorites, talking about the ones they particularly _disliked._

And then Fuhrer Grumman stepped forward, lifting a sheet of paper in front of him.

“It is the military’s honor to accept into its ranks Major Kat Armstrong, the Steel Flower alchemist.”

The crowd roared, and a very, very audible shriek of delight came from the assembled candidates. Kat Armstrong— _Major_ Kat Armstrong—tore off her hat and shoved down her cowl, rushing forward to accept her pocketwatch as the rest of the candidates gloomily dispersed.

Rebecca couldn’t have been more shocked at her appearance.

She had already noticed the lack of height, of course, but long blonde hair tumbled out, slightly mussed, but still curling perfectly at the ends (she noticed, jealously; her own hair frizzed _way_ too easily). Her eyes would have been _just_ too far to make out the color if they hadn’t been so goddamn big and _blue._ And her delight was so very eager, nothing like the somberness the military liked to encourage.

A lot of the proctors did, for some reason, seem to have a stunned look on their faces and a gray touch to their skin, but Rebecca barely paid them attention as she turned it back to the newest State Alchemist, beaming and shaking the hand of the Fuhrer.

Ah, goddamn. She was _really_ cute.

—

There were multiple reasons, Rebecca decided, to celebrate the new addition to the military.

First, of course, and most obviously, was the addition of the first female State Alchemist in Amestris’s history. As a lady in the military— _especially_ as a trans one, and in the closet about it, with good reason—it was nice to see that the new regime seemed to be interested in getting their heads out of places where the sun didn’t shine and decided to start making the military somewhere that _didn’t_ do things like, oh, say, reassign people like _Riza Hawkeye_ to be the Fuhrer’s hostage. Not that Rebecca was hugely interested in a career track, but it was nice to know that they were at least making an effort to cut back on the painfully obvious sexism in the military.

She hoped.

Of course, there was also the fact that she and her girlfriends—most soldiers, really—would take any opportunity to celebrate, so that did have a little something to do with the welcoming party that they put together. Because of _course_ Rebecca was that lucky, that Kat Armstrong was under Rebecca’s Colonel’s command. A separate division, but Rebecca would certainly be seeing her around.

(That was the _second_ reason to celebrate.)

Rebecca couldn’t have missed her, even in the crowded bar: gone was the black wool coat and obscuring cowl and hat. In its place was bright, nearly blinding pink.

She couldn’t help the way her face split into a beaming grin, not with how utterly _adorable_ Kat looked. She waved to catch Kat’s attention, then waded over through the crowd. Not that she likely _needed_ Rebecca’s help, what with the way she punched, but on a closer look, those clothes looked like they were very well-made, and Kat really didn’t strike Rebecca as the type to be familiar with how to navigate crowded bars.

“Hey! I’m Rebecca. Second Lieutenant Catalina, if you wanna be formal about it, but we’re all off duty here.” She stuck her hand out, and after a moment of hesitation, Kat reached out to take it as well. While Rebecca had to hide a wince at the grip, the returned smile on Kat’s face made it worth it.

“I’m sorry.” And the shy smile on Kat’s face, the soft, demure voice that Rebecca could barely hear over the din, was _completely_ at odds with the girl from earlier, the one who punched as well as anyone Rebecca had ever known, who had let out a shriek of delight when she had accepted her position. “I’m just not used to… this sort of thing.” She laughed a little nervously, tucking one blonde curl behind her ear, cheeks flushing a pink color that matched her coat. “Not that I’m not honored, of course! I’ve always… wanted to, a little…” Her expression turned wistful for a brief moment, before she glanced over Rebecca’s shoulder. “So, ah, would you mind terribly leading the way?”

“Yeah, sure, this way.” Rebecca gestured in the direction of her group, shifting to make some of the bigger guys leave room for her to walk. Yeah, Kat could probably punch her way through, but Rebecca would like to _avoid_ being arrested this evening. That was never fun.

Rebecca ushered Kat to the seat they had all saved for her, beaming.

“Hey guys? This is Kat.”

“C-Catherine, actually,” she corrected. “If you don’t mind. I only went with Kat because…” She went a little pinker as she sat, Rebecca taking the seat perpendicular to her, at the end of the long table. “Well, my family is somewhat known in the military, and if I hadn’t gone with a nickname, I would have worried I didn’t earn my spot. So I went with Kat. With a K,” she finished helpfully, though her voice was still quiet enough that a few of their number had to lean in to hear her.

“Catherine, huh? Catherine Armstr…” Rebecca trailed off, then her eyes went wide as pieces clicked into place, not the least of which was Jean complaining about how a certain date had gone very badly. “Wait, hold on, as in _the_ Armstrongs? The obscenely r—uh, famous ones? As in Olivier and Alex Armstrong?”

Catherine beamed at her, and Rebecca noticed through a little bit of sudden dizziness that her eyes were a pretty blue-green shade, not just a bright blue. More distracting, however, was the notion of what either of the aforementioned might do to anyone they considered “messing with” their sister.

“Yes! I actually wanted to do what my big brother does, but… well.” She sighed a little, glancing away. “I wanted to earn it, and not do it the same way he does. It’s a big shadow to try to step out of,” she said with a little laugh.

Rebecca thought of Major Armstrong’s hulking form, of General Armstrong’s formidable presence, and with a small shiver, silently agreed.

“Well, your sister’s done a lot to change the minds of the sexist old fogeys up at the top,” one of Rebecca’s friends pointed out. “And it’s great to see you doing the same. First female State Alchemist! That’s awesome!”

“Seriously,” Rebecca chimed in. “A few years back, they wouldn’t even let a friend of mine sit for the test.” Grace Havoc had been furious about that one, especially after all the time she had put into studying, but Rebecca might nudge her in that direction once again for next year. “It’s just really great to see.”

Catherine laughed a little self-consciously, and it was a little hard to believe that she was a member of one of the most influential families in Amestris. “I mean, it wasn’t exactly my intentions, but I agree, that it’s nice.” She lifted her chin a little. “I’ve always been told that military life wouldn’t suit me, but I have more in me than they seem to think!”

And Rebecca could believe it: there was a softness to Catherine’s face and in her eyes that spoke of a life of comfort, but at the same time, there was a steel behind it all that, once tempered, could be formidable.

“Steel Flower Alchemist indeed,” Rebecca murmured, mostly to herself, and Catherine glanced over, momentarily startled, before her slow smile blossomed into a pure beaming one.

The topics gradually shifted to other goings-on, to the latest ventures of the military regarding Ishval (something _everyone_ was pleased about and glad to discuss), ghosting briefly over Colonel Hawkeye (and Rebecca did _not_ miss the shining admiration in Catherine’s eyes at that, or when it was turned in Rebecca’s direction after offhandedly mentioning that they were friends), to guns (Rebecca, as always, impressed everyone, especially Catherine, with her knowledge of the giant ones), and, finally, to martial arts.

While Catherine had been contributing slightly, just enough to show that she didn’t feel shut out of the conversation, it was after Nura brought up Isvhalan weaponry and styles of fighting that implemented them that Catherine leaned forward, eyes shining, and started bombarding her and the others who chimed in with questions, an entirely new and eager side to what had initially seemed a rather shy young lady.

Catherine had been to Xing, Rebecca learned, and for some reason, hearing that surprised her. She had kind of figured that Catherine was the kind of girl who had never set foot outside Central, let alone Amestris. But then again, the Armstrongs might very well have some fancy estate in the countryside…

But watching the five of them discuss pointers and comparisons and contrast was a thing to behold. Rebecca had to admit that her own larger frame and build made her much better suited to brawling, so she had missed the finer points of all the leverage and excellent tricks for using weight against someone, or getting around to their back. Not that she couldn’t _do_ it, she just didn’t have to rely completely on it because she could always fall back to a punch to the face.

And she led with that, as a joke, offhandedly complimenting their styles and mastery of their own techniques while mentioning the difference in hers, and Catherine _pounced._

“We should spar!” she burst out with excitedly, then froze, a slight flicker of panic in the back of her eyes. “I… I’m sorry, that was inappropriate.”

Catherine was really going to have to stop blushing like that, and also stop looking down like that, because it was doing things to Rebecca’s heart. “Not at all!” she laughed, keeping her tone easy. “Maybe you’ll actually end up being a challenge.”

She elbowed Nura genially in the ribs. Nura didn’t seem to think it was quite as funny.

Catherine, however, let out a delighted laugh, and _that_ , Rebecca decided, made it all worth it.

—

“Catherine Armstrong? Yeah, I’ve met her. Why?”

Rebecca shrugged. Jean knew her better than to fall for her feigned disinterest, and she could tell from the way he watched her out of the corner of his eye that he wasn’t buying it.

“Just wondering what you know about her. You practically live in the hot seat of all the information about everyone, the way you follow after that General Sneaky.”

“Better sneaky than dotty,” Jean replies with a too-innocent shrug and glance upwards.

“I’ll be sure to tell the Fuhrer that you think so. Now spill, you uncultured hick.”

“We were delivered by the same doctor.”

“Exactly, and there was only enough class back home to go to one of us. Tell me what you know!”

“Sheesh.” Jean jammed his toothpick back in his mouth, but Rebecca was fairly certain that his scowl had more to do with that (and the fact that it wasn’t a cigarette) and less to do with her half-assed insults. “The boss and the chief have been talking about her a bit, since she passed. Apparently she’s got alchemy similar to Major Armstrong’s. Basically, they punch things, and it makes them move faster. Well, it’s got somethin’ to do with the force of the punch affecting the transmutation…” Jean waved his hand. “Whatever. But instead of with the earth, she’s got it with metal. According to them, it’s gotta be real precise, too, knowing metal makeup, different alloys, what you can and can’t jack up in architecture to keep from making things collapse…” Jean shrugged. “Though I have to ask, when have alchemists ever cared about that kinda thing?”

“Point,” Rebecca murmured offhandedly—of course Jean knew more than he thought he did. She’d let him keep thinking that. “And as a person?”

Jean’s scowl deepened, and he ran his knuckles across his chin. Of _course_ he was stroking a beard that wasn’t there anymore. If she hadn’t been waiting on tenterhooks for an answer, she probably would have made fun of him for it. “She said she only liked handsome men,” he finally admitted, looking for all the world like someone had broken his favorite gun. “Strong ones! Like her brother!”

Rebecca couldn’t help her snort; she also couldn’t forget the way Catherine’s eyes had shone when they had talked about Riza, the blush on her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes. Not that Rebecca could blame her, really; Riza might have been happily married to Lieutenant Ross now, but Rebecca remembered the same look from her academy days…

“I’m sure.”

Jean shot her an aggrieved look. “There aren’t _any_ men as strong as her brother!”

“Exactly.” Rebecca shrugged. It made perfect sense to her, after all: tell a guy that you were only interested in ladies, and there was a good chance he wanted to be your one exception. Jean wouldn’t have, of course, but Catherine had no way of knowing that.

She supposed she _could_ have told Jean, but after all, she was his best friend. She wanted the best for him. It would do him some good to figure it out himself. “I hope you’re not saying that she’s _in the wrong_ for not dating you.”

Jean wilted a little under her stern look. “Well, no, I just…” He winced a little. “Okay, yeah. Point. Sorry.”

Rebecca nodded, then smirked. “Besides, you _do_ come on way too strong sometimes.”

“Hey!”

—

Rebecca danced backwards, panting, running on sheer instinct and one solitary thought: _never_ spar with Catherine Armstrong.

She would absolutely fess up to underestimating her: though she had gone easy for the first couple of minutes, it quickly became apparent that even trying, Rebecca could barely hold her own, let alone come out on top.

And _damn_ , the way the girl fought. Rebecca had never quite seen anything like it—she had seen the male Major Armstrong fight from a distance, but even if Catherine’s style had been passed down the Armstrong line for generations as well, it couldn’t have been more different. The poise, grace, and precision with which she executed the moves almost seemed to have a base in some kind of dancing, and yet all of her actions were so _economical_ , based on using the opponent’s movements and momentum against them.

Which Rebecca had confirmed up close and personal when she made the mistake of moving in a little too close to the bubble that seemed to be her “defense zone,” then found herself suddenly facedown on the mat, facing away from the pin as Catherine twisted her arm behind her back.

She was wearing perfume. It was _really nice._

“Um?”

Right. Rebecca slapped the mat twice, and the pressure vanished. She groaned and rolled onto her back, looking forlornly up at her conqueror.

Catherine, for her part, was _beaming._

“That was _amazing!_ You’re so good—I had no idea that would be so fun!” A curl had fallen out of her hairtie, and was framing her face in an unfairly charming fashion for how hard they had both just worked out. “You’ll have to teach me some of that, especially that weird punch you kept doing!”

Sure, like Catherine needed to learn _anything_ from Rebecca. She had practically pranced circles around her; not to mention she was currently pulling off a pink workout uniform that hugged damned _perfect_ curves—Rebecca wasn’t being creepy, but hella jealous? Yes—and barely seemed to be sweating at all. _And_ , when she reached up to tug the tie out of her hair, it all seemed to fall around her face in gently curled waterfalls that seemed like she had styled it that way.

Meanwhile, Rebecca was probably breaking out with two new zits on her chin and one on her forehead as they spoke.

Catherine offered her hand, which Rebecca accepted, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet.

The two of them walked alongside the large windows of the workout room, Rebecca still distracted by how Catherine managed to look so _good_ after working out. It just wasn’t fair! Clearly some people were just born with a gift to look so… so flushed and adorable and almost _languid_ , like she might after some really good—

 _Anyway._ Shit, Rebecca loved girls. Girls were just so… _great._ Especially this girl, given the way that she was currently delighted to find a party who had asked her how she had developed her alchemy, and though Rebecca only understood maybe one word in three, she just couldn’t get over how _passionate_ Catherine was, how she talked about hoping to use it to help people, now that the military had been cleaned out, and how thrilled she was whenever Rebecca said… well, anything complimentary, really.

“And I just… I really wanted to be able to make it without them,” Catherine finished, the final words in a saga about how—and why—she had disguised herself to take the test. “I understand, that I’ve had a lot handed to me, growing up. My wealthy family, their reputation… Even my alchemy came from learning techniques passed down through the Armstrong line for generations. But I _did_ work to make it my own. And I didn’t want them to give me any special treatment when testing. I know that that doesn’t change the fact that I was very _lucky_ , especially with my family tolerating… a lot of things. They’re very progressive, especially when a lot of others aren’t. I don’t know how many young women I know were pressured into marrying, but they’re fine with me _and_ my sister going into the military, and me doing alchemy, and the both of us… well, I don’t think Olivier has ever been interested in men, either.”

Oh. _Oh._

Rebecca cleared her throat delicately. Well, not really, but she would like to _think_ she did, especially when in this sort of company.

“I think it’s really great that you get how lucky you are. You meet all sorts of people up here, who don’t, y’know? Well, maybe you don’t know, but I grew up in the East. They’re… a little less tolerant there.” Her voice took on a dry quality. “I’ll say that I’m not especially picky, not when it comes to girls or boys or otherwise or in between, but you should’ve seen some of the folks back home when that kind of thing came up. One of my friends—well, there are people who don’t take too kindly to the fact that he’s a boy, refuse to call him that, because they say he wasn’t ‘born that way,’ think that just because he’s got certain parts between his legs…” She shook her head. Vague enough not to out Jean; specific enough to gauge Catherine’s reaction. “My family is good about it, and our friends, but let’s just say I’m glad I secured that transfer to Central.”

Catherine nodded solemnly. “I’ve heard things like that. And I know that Central isn’t the best for it, either, but I’m sorry about your friend. I’m hoping that… that somehow, we can change these sorts of things. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to join, because I saw the influence my sister had, and I just—I just want to make things better for _everyone._ People in those situations, women, Ishvalans, anyone who likes their own gender—I don’t care if it sounds stupid, or foolish, or idealistic—“

“It doesn’t,” Rebecca interrupted urgently, not able to help herself. “I’m sorry, I just—I don’t like hearing you talk about yourself that way. “You’re not stupid. I think we need more people like you. I mean, yeah, you pack a hell of a punch and are clearly _brilliant_ with alchemy, but you _wanna_ make things better. You really care, and I think—I _hope_ that’s what we’re moving towards, and I’m ready to throw myself into that, to fight for it if I gotta, and it’s good to know that you’re here to do that with me. Because I’d be _honest_ to have you at my back in a fight, whether it’s a bar fight or one with a good chunk of the country.”

When had they gotten so close? The both of them had been so fervent in their small speeches that Rebecca, at least, hadn’t even noticed that Catherine’s face was only inches from hers, eyes wide, face flushed—

Catherine cleared her throat and looked down, flushing even more.

“I—sorry, I mean… I didn’t…”

“No!” Catherine interrupted, looking up abruptly. “I mean… I just…” She hesitated, watching Rebecca for a few moments, then cleared her throat delicately again.

“May I ask for a favor?”

—

“And here we are, Central’s premium gambling den. How did you know I’d know where one was, anyway?”

Catherine shrugged, looking _particularly_ innocent, something that Rebecca wasn’t buying for a damned _second._ “I just had a feeling?”

“A feeling, huh? And what was that, that I was some bad news girl—“

“Adventurous!”

“—all ready to corrupt an innocent young lady—“

“Well, if you insist—“

“Catherine!”

Catherine giggled a little at Rebecca’s half-stunned, half-outraged (and utterly fake) expression, covering her mouth and looking away at the groups of people gathered around tables. “Let’s go to this one!”

Rebecca had already discovered that Catherine Armstrong was good at a lot of things: alchemy, combat, looking really cute in _just about anything_ (and nothing, Rebecca would bet), but cards was _not_ one of them.

“Do you even know the rules of Blackjack?” Rebecca hissed over at her, voice pained. She had been more or less breaking even, but Catherine…

“Not really.” Her voice was _far_ too cheerful for someone who had lost so much money. “But it’s not really about that, is it?”

It wasn’t about… the money? “Then what—“

“It’s _adventurous!_ ” Catherine beamed at her, and that look—god, that look was so excited, so admiring, so…

“You think I’m some kind of bad girl, don’t you?” Rebecca asked, a little disbelieving. “That’s what all this is about? Some kind of… is this a kink?” she demanded, equal parts outraged and fucking trying not to crack up.

“Well, I mean… you _did_ know where to find this place.”

Rebecca had to set her cards down to cover her face for a moment. How? How had she been lured into this? She wasn’t some kind of delinquent! Her makeup was classy! She wore heels and nice jewelry and would _totally_ date a nice someone if she could just get asked out!

“You know, you two look a little lost.”

Rebecca lowered her hands to glance over at the source of the voice, expression shifting to “utterly annoyed” when she saw the smirking leer on the speaker’s face, and the blatant way that he was ogling Catherine.

“Actually, we look like we’re having a conversation and minding our own business, because that’s what we _are_ doing. You could stand to learn a lesson from that, you know, and leave us alone.”

The man scowled. “Or you could learn a lesson about manners—“

“I know manners,” Catherine snapped from beside Rebecca, setting her cards down and glaring. Rebecca felt a moment of absurd pride at that, seeing how she had gone from seemingly shy flower to standing up for herself. “And if you cared about them, you’d turn and leave right now. _And_ take a bath.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, and Rebecca felt a flash of alarm—it was instinctive, really, no matter whose company she was in, or how well she knew they could defend themselves, and it made her _angry._

Catherine stood, and Rebecca quickly followed. They could take this guy in a fight, she knew, but she would have felt a hell of a lot better if Catherine had brought her alchemy gauntlets—

The man reached out to grab Catherine’s arm, and Catherine—instead of striking out, like Rebecca had expected, she twisted and dodged, planting one heel firmly into the ground, then spinning out of his reach.

The other foot stomped into the ground next to him, and yellow light crackled across the floor before two bars of metal, presumably from the foundation or something, shot out and pinned the man to the wall by his clothes. The entire building shook, drawing forth a few startled screams, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Catherine lose her balance, slipping backwards.

Ignoring the screams, especially the one of the creepy guy, Rebecca whirled, barely managing to reach Catherine in time to catch her.

“You need to be more careful of those heels,” Rebecca breathed, this time, not caring how close their faces were as they grinned at each other. Really, Catherine never ceased to surprise her; what was the point in trying to keep things “normal”?

“I need them!” Catherine chirped, completely unrepentant. “See?”

Rebecca glanced downwards for a moment to see the bottom of the pink stiletto, engraved with an alchemic array. Brilliant, classy, _and_ beautiful.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world. Rebecca closed the rest of the distance between them, sealing their lips in a kiss.

Catherine wasn’t nearly inexperienced at kissing as Rebecca had thought she might be, which was a nice surprise as she tilted her head a little. _Catherine_ took the lead with her tongue, flicking it gently against Rebecca’s lips as she made a soft, content noise…

“All right, break it up!”

Rebecca yanked away, making a startled and disappointed noise as Catherine staggered to get her balance back—and surprisingly quickly. One of the burly guards waded through the crowd, a smile on his face.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, squinting at the two of them, then at the man from earlier, who was yelping and squirming.

“We were just… leaving.” Rebecca grabbed her winnings and shoved them in her pocket, grabbed Catherine’s hand and nearly did the same before catching herself, then ducked around him, making a beeline for the exit as Catherine laughed delightedly behind her.

“Mmm, Rebecca?”

Rebecca’s heart did a little flip-flop at the sheer _happiness_ in Catherine’s voice as she said the name, and she couldn’t resist smiling a little, despite the slight urgency of the situation.

“I hope our next date is this fun!”

Rebecca snorted, unable to help herself. “Don’t count on it, sweetheart. _I’m_ picking the location!”

And they both stumbled into the chilly night air, hands clasped tightly, delighted laughter following in their footsteps.


End file.
